Monster
by scullens71
Summary: After WWII, Germany becomes the most hated nation in the world. Italy has fallen into depression and refuses to leave the house. With both countries shattered, what will it take for them to reconcile?


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**A/N Warnings for Holocaust, Attempted Suicide, Depression, and Panic Attacks. Also, I own nothing!**

"No!"

"Please!"

"Spare me!"

"Monster." Germany woke with a sharp gasp. His night clothes hugged his body in a sheen of sweat. He could still here the voices, see the accusing glares and pleading looks of his people, the disgusted looks of his fellow nations, and the scared expression of Italy in his mind. He was a monster. A parasite that did not deserve to live after what he had done to his people, but cursed with immortality. It had been ten years since the end of World War II, but it seemed like only a day had past. At the World Conferences, Germany was shunned by his fellow nations. They would watch him from the corner of their eyes, their judging glances burning into his soul. Things would have been better if Italy was there, but Germany had not seen Italy since the Allies discovered the Camps. He had stopped going to meetings, leaving Romano in charge of both halves of Italy. From the look Romano would give him at the meetings, He know Italy was suffering too. Things had calmed down since the first meeting, when Israel had attacked him on sight. It took both Russia and America to pull her off him. She had fought them, screaming at the German as he watched her numbly from the floor. No one had helped him up from his spot on the ground. Germany just sat there and listened as Israel screamed from her confines. "Monster! Murderer! How could you do such an evil thing! You killed them! I'll never forgive you!" Germany watched as her screams turned to sobs, his expression devoid of all emotion. As everyone turned to look at him, Germany knew he was to blame. Now, ten years later, he was still looked at with as much accusation and hatred as before. Instead of getting better, things grew worse as the immigration problem grew worse and the awareness of his Furhurs evil deeds became common knowledge. He felt that same and ridcule his people faced, their emotions almost overpowering his. He wanted desperately to hide, to run away, but he new he couldn't do that. Now, as he laid in bed, be felt himself fall into dispair. Those voices would never stop their cries, and he could never be rid of those stares.

Italy was conflicted. Germany, kind, sturdy Germany, was a monster. Italy didn't want to believe it, but he saw it in his dreams every night. The piles of corpses, their bodies stacked in a giant pile as the Nazi soldiers tasked with were nowhere to be seen. The malnoursished people marching past him as they made their way to freedom, their eyes dulled by the horrors they witnessed. He could smell the sweat and blood, the ashes falling on him like black snow. He saw what Germany had done, and it scared him. How could someone so kind, someone so strong and dependable, do something so evil? Surely he didn't know what was happening! But the look on Germany's face said it all. He looked at the people before him blankly, as if they didn't matter at all. Italy had done the only thing he knew how to do: He ran. He didn't care where he was going, he just couldn't be around Germany. Couldn't be around his blank expression and horrible deeds. Couldn't be around the Allied Powers, who looked at the prisoners in horror, at America, who yelled accusations at the German in outrage. Italy was breaking, and in the worse way possible.

He spent the next few days sitting on his bed in his room, reviewing everything in his head. The images of starved people passed before his eyes, of Germany smiling at him as his people died. Italy wanted to cry, to scream, to break into pieces and never put himself together again, but he couldn't. He didn't eat, didn't sleep, and only spoke to his brother, who looked at him worriedly. The only thing that registered in his daze was that he was hurt. He had trusted Germany, had loved him, but Germany was a monster. That's what his people whispered to him. The Germans were monsters, killers, and did not deserve to live. But part of Italy longed for Germany. He missed the soft smile he would receive, the nights spent together as they shared a bed, just o they knew someone was there. He missed the laughter and the lectures, because he knew Gemrnay only lectured because he cared. Most of all, he missed his friend. But his friend had died in that concentration camp, along with those 11 million people. Italy knew that. So why did his heart tell him to give Germany another chance? Why did he still want to see him, to hug him. Why did he still want to run his hands through his blonde locks, to place his hands on those pale cheeks and look deeply in the eyes that he always felt like he could drown in? Germany was a monster, a murderer! But...Italy was still in love with him. He curled up at the realization, whimpering as he snuggled deeper into his bed. A crash made him bolt upright. Romano was looking at him in panic, the door almost lodged into the wall behind him. "Fratello? What's going on?"

"It's Germany. Prussia went to see him, since Russia let him visit. Italy, he shot himself."

"Germany...shot himself? I don't understand, wouldn't that just heal afterwards?" Romano shook his head. "He's not healing correctly. Fratello, you need to see him." Italy felt a sense of panic bubble in the pit of his stomach. "No! I can't!" Romano grasped his brother's shoulders, looking at him solemnly. "He left a note. Prussia brought it over." Romano plied his brother's hands open, placing the paper in his hand. Italy opened in, noting the blood staining half the page. _Germany's Blood_, he thought with a sense of dread. As soon as he saw three words, written in that familiar miltary script, he broke down in sobs for the first time in ten years. _Feliciano, Forgive me. _

It was dark, and warm. Germany felt like he was floating. Something in the back of his mind was telling him he should be feeling something, but he wasn't sure what. What had happened? Where was he? The questions ran through his head, leaving him with a empty feeling inside. All too soon, light surround him and he found himself opening his eyes in a painfully white room. The methodic beeping of a heart monitor told him he was in a hospital. Why was he in the hospital? Suddenly it came back to him. The feeling of anguishing, knowing he was a murderer, the hatred everyone felt towards him. He remembered cleaning his pistol with such care, writing the note to Italy before placing the cold, unfeeling metal to his temple and pulling the trigger. He can still feel the blood from his wound wrapping around him like a blanket as he fell into the darkness. All of it hit him like a ton of bricks. What had happened afterwards? How had he gotten to the hospital? He felt his panic rising at the unanswered questions, the feeling blocking his throat. He couldn't breath. He was dying, sufficating in his panic. He vaguely registered someone calling his name, someone running gentle hands through his hair and hugging him tightly. His panic feel away to sobs at the gentle touch. Who could still treat him like this, after all he'd done? He clung to the unknown person tightly, vaguely registering their words. "Ludwig Va tutto bene. Sono qui, amore mio. Io non ti lascerò di nuovo, quindi per favore non piangere. Ti amo così tanto Ludwig, ti amo. Per favore, si prega di essere a posto. Io non voglio farti del male. Sono qui per voi, in modo da non soffrire più solo. Ti perdono." The words were spoken to him soothingly. Ludwig cried harder at the words. He wanted to see Italy so bad he was imagining him here. But Italy was not coming, because Italy hated him too. "Ludwig, please, look at me." The German did as the vision said, knowing that if he didn't it might fade away. The Italian looked at his face with a mixture of guilt and sadness, touching his cheek gently. It all felt so real, and it broke Germany's heart, because Italy wold never touch him like this, like he was prescious and breakable and loved. He would never bury his face into Germany's neck and cry for him like he was doing now. Italy hated him. Italy thought he was a monster. Italy would not lean forward and kiss him, so agonizingly sweet and loving, because he was afraid of Germany. He wouldn't comply when Germany deepened the kiss, wouldn't put his arms around the German's neck and pull him closer. Germany wouldn't know he tasted like tears and something so unique that it could only be described as his. Italy was not here. This was all a dream, a cruel dream that he never wanted to wake up from. Germany relucantly broke away, stroking the italian's cheek softly and Italy cupped his hand and leaned into the touhc with a sad smile on his face. "I wish this was real." Germany whispered sadly as he looked at the man before him. Italy was beautiful and perfect. He was everything Germany wanted, but knew he could never have. Italy looked at him in surprise. "I'm here Germany. This is real." Germany felt his panic return, pulling away from the Italian in shock. "No, it's not. Italy hates me! I'm a monster!" He shouted in panic. "Italy could never look at me like that! He knows what happened. I didn't know, but I should have! They were my people, but I didn't know they were suffering! I didn't know what my boss was doing, so I couldn't stop him. I'm a murderer!"

"No you're not!" The German froze at the sight of the Italian in front of him. Italy was panting, looking at him tearfully. "You're not a monster or a murderer. And I don't hate you. I'm in love with you, Ludwig. I have for a long time. You're kind and strong and brave and you'd never hurt anyone. And I shouldn't have run from you like that. I was scared. I saw your face that day and I did't see you. You looked so cold that I thought...I thought..that you weren't Ludwig anymore. You'd suddenly disappeared and someone else took your face and it scared me. I know I was wrong to run. I was stupid and selfish and I shouldn't have done it. I'm so sorry Ludwig." Germany pulled the Italian close, hating to see him upset. Italy loved him. Italy didn't think he was a monster, that he was evil. Italy cared about it. As he kissed Italy again, Germany knew that everything was going to be alright. Because he had the one thing that mattered. He had Italy.

Translation: Ludwig Va tutto bene. Sono qui, amore mio. Io non ti lascerò di nuovo, quindi per favore non piangere. Ti amo così tanto Ludwig, ti amo. Per favore, si prega di essere a posto. Io non voglio farti del male. Sono qui per voi, in modo da non soffrire più solo. Ti perdono. - Ludwig, It's alright. I'm here, my love. I won't leave you again, so please don't cry. I love you so much Ludwig, I love you. Please, please be alright. I don't want to you hurt. I'm here for you, so you don't have to suffer alone anymore. I forgive you.


End file.
